


Your lot and my lot

by kouw



Category: Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971)
Genre: (for now...), Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Work In Progress, child friendly, like the vicar, mrs hobday, other characters might pop up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kouw/pseuds/kouw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War is raging on not-too-distant shores, but all is calm in Pepperinge Eye. Eglantine and the children miss Emelius who is in the Army, but they don't know where. The children are starting to notice Miss Price is getting rather depressed. Will finding the Professor help rebuilding a home? A family?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your lot and my lot

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone knows if there has been a conclusion reached about Emelius' last name, please let me know. For now I've given him an extra 'e', but that could easily be fixed.  
> Multi-chapter fic, child friendly for now, but you never know what happens when grown ups find each other after one has been in the Army during a war and the other has been waiting for him to come home. Stuff might happen, yo.

**Missing you**

The worst thing about it is that she has no idea if he will be back. 

He left the house in his uniform, kissed her (she could still feel it tingle on her cheek sometimes, when she concentrated very hard), threw his duffel over his shoulder and marched to the station.

Trains wait for no man.

It’s the women who do the waiting, she thinks bitterly. The mothers, the wives, daughters. She is none of these. She doesn’t know what she is. Not quite.

Letters come sporadically. There are no stamps from where he might be, only the different inks from the army postage service. Words that seem dry and distant. Detached. Strangely cheerful. Artificially happy. She does not know where he is, not what he might be doing. His postscripts are for the children - often longer than his actual letter to her. He asks after school, friends, encourages them for tests that have already been taken. 

He never says when he might be coming back.

-

He is in an office in London and he cannot tell her. He is writing reports, thinking up schemes, doing some ‘out of the box’ thinking with old pals from school. The end of the war is nowhere in sight. The Ministry of Food is sending out pamphlets and training motherly looking women to teach other women how to cook something nourishing from the rations that are being given out.

He writes his letters to Eglantine and the children. He knows they are being read by the censors, so he doesn’t bother to close the envelope. Best to remain inconspicuous. Keep flying under the radar. Keeping his head down at all times, keeping the landlady of his small room happy by paying his rent promptly, by not bringing in his coworkers.

He misses her. Her smile, her wittiness, her stubborness. He misses the children and their cheer and he misses how they had been in that big house by the sea together. 

Something to go back to, when all of this is over.

-

Autumn by the sea is seeing things go raw and sparse. The waves crashing upon the beach and against the chalk, the wind blowing around the house. Paul once cried out for his mother, she had heard Carrie rush into the room, to comfort him.

She had not known what to do in the morning: ask after it or pretend she had not heard, but the children came to her, telling her that the sound of the shutters scared them.

They had taken them down. In the attic she found the old drapes, she had hung them since they needed them for blacking out the light. 

Her house was getting fuller by the day it seemed. With her own things, some of Emelius’ that had somehow ended up there. The children and the belongings they gathered. There were days the house seemed filled with limbs and voices and she made endless cups of tea. There the childrens’ friends at the dinner table taking small portions of what she had cooked, in fear of overstepping boundaries - not having brought rations books or stamps.

She always took their plates and piled on the food.

She could make do with less.

-

He’s being invited to have dinner with the Major and he brings his ration books and a bottle of wine - nobody asks where he got it from and he won’t tell. By now they know that Captain Browne is good at getting things that are hard to get a hold of. Nylons. Chocolate. 

Bacon.

He’s a welcome guest since he can be witty, has been known to have a go at the old piano, is (almost accidentally) one of the good ol’ boys and charming with the ladies. He never outstays his welcome, doesn’t throw himself upon the food.

He doesn’t ask awkward questions, but he does know where to find the best clubs in town and gets them in - often leaving within fifteen minutes himself. He seems lonely though he obviously knows his way around and he is aware of it.

He is indeed lonely.

-

They see it in her face and they worry. Their lives have changed so much over the past few years - being bombed in London, losing their parents. Flying around on a bed. Charlie sometimes still feels his nose twitch like a rabbit.

He won’t admit it, of course.

He won’t admit that he missed Professor Browne - even if he had been with them for such a short while. His letters are always so upbeat. Cheerful even. This comforts him in a way, but he just wishes he could just talk to him. There are things he cannot discuss with Miss Price. 

Especially not since he can easily see how much she misses Emelius as well.  
He has a plan and he needs his little brother for it and to get to him, he needs his sister. They need to fix all of this together, because things will be falling to pieces before long and he can’t be having that.

He’s already lost his home once.


End file.
